Nightmares
by HermioneGirl96
Summary: It's hard to get a good night's sleep in Simon and Penelope's apartment, since Simon, Penelope, and Baz all have nightmares. One night, when Simon and Baz both wake up rattled by dreams that the other left, Baz decides it's time to get serious about the relationship. Angsty/fluffy Snowbaz one-shot from Baz's POV, set a few months after the epilogue of Carry On.


**Disclaimer: It's all Rainbow Rowell's.**

It's probably impossible to say which of the three of us has the most nightmares. We've all earned plenty.

Sometimes Bunce's screams wake us up in the middle of the night, and Simon eases himself out of bed to check on her. If I'm lucky, he gives me a kiss on the forehead—or even a single peck on the lips—before he leaves. I'm not jealous—it's been years since I thought it was remotely possible that anything would ever happen between him and Bunce—but the bed does feel especially empty when he leaves like that. I make sure not to look like I'm pouting when he returns, though (even though he can't see in the dark the way I can). I'm not sure if I do it because I don't want to upset him or because I can't stand to show weakness. Maybe both. It's hard to work out my motives where Simon is concerned.

I wonder if Bunce ever winds up in our bed when I'm at my place and she or Simon has nightmares. After all, I know she slept in my bed last fall before I came back to Watford. I hope she and Simon recognize the difference between sleeping in twin beds four feet apart and _sharing a bed_. They probably do. On the few occasions when I've seen Bunce hug Simon, Simon's face has been a mask of confusion. He likes to have her around, but it seems like he finds contact with her off-putting.

When I spend the night, which is most of the time, I sometimes pretend to sleep through Simon's nightmares. I've got plenty of practice doing that, after so many years of being his roommate. Generally I don't know what to do, and also I want to give him some privacy. Which doesn't actually make any sense. Anyway. I always hold him if he's crying—I pull him against me, cradle his head in my chest, and nuzzle the top of his head with mine. That's the only time I call him "love."

Come to think of it, that probably creates a perverse incentive. (We've been talking about those in my classes.) (The London School of Economics was a bit of a whim, but I've found myself fascinated with the subject. Which makes a certain amount of sense. Economics is the language of power, and I'm a Pitch to the core.)

Simon's better at comforting than I am, but then, he almost certainly has more practice. Bunce isn't a crier, but Wellbelove is, and things Simon learned from dating her crop up everywhere in our relationship. (Such as his kiss technique.) (I try not to think about it.) When I wake up with nightmares, he puts an arm around me, pulls me against him, and gently kisses my face. Sometimes he wakes up before I do—I'm probably thrashing around or yelling or something—and I wake up with his face against mine and his hands in my hair.

Once, I wake up like that and my face is wet. I'm momentarily confused—my breath is coming out in pants, not sobs—but then I realize that the tears are Simon's. He's crying, and he's holding me anyway, the wonderful chivalrous bastard.

I scoot up in bed until I can brace myself against the wall behind us, and then I take Simon in my arms. I lay one hand on his back, between his wings, and tangle the fingers of my other hand in his curly hair. "Shh, love, it's okay," I whisper. "Did you dream about killing the Mage again?"

We only rarely tell each other about our nightmares. We don't want to bother each other, I suppose. Also, we often don't talk much, just in general. I don't think words come naturally to Simon, and sincerity sure as hell doesn't come naturally to me. But occasionally it's like Simon can't contain himself. (His impulse control is nowhere near as good as mine.) And what I've gathered from the times he's told me about his dreams is that panting means he dreamt about going off, crying means he dreamt about killing the Mage, and shaking means he dreamt that either Bunce or I died.

I'm mildly surprised, then, when I feel Simon's head moving back and forth against my chest, followed by a choked-out "No." He takes a few shuddering breaths and then says, "I dreamt that you left."

I exhale slowly. "So did I."

Simon pulls back from me a bit and sobs audibly. Even in the dark, I can see him wipe at his eyes and cheeks. "You dreamt that you left? Do you want to leave?"

 _Syntax, Basilton_. I pull him against me again. "No, love. I dreamt that _you_ left."

I'm not wearing a nightshirt. (Sharing a bed with Simon is like sleeping with a space heater. Pyjamas would be redundant. I sleep in my pants when I'm here.) My chest is already wet with Simon's tears. It will be sticky in the morning. Thank snakes I'm a morning showerer.

"Do you want to leave?" Simon asks, his voice still wobbly.

"Crowley, Simon, _no_. You woke up before I did. I was panicking, wasn't I?"

"Yeah . . ."

I sigh into his hair and then say, "You know what this means, don't you?"

"What?"

"That our greatest fear is losing each other." I wind my fingers in his curls and say, "Simon, I think we should get married."

Simon pulls back farther this time. I slide my hand out of his hair and let him go. " _What?_ "

"Engaged, I mean," I say. "What do we have to wait for? It's not like we'll gradually stop being able to stand each other. We lived together for seven years; if there were going to be deal-breakers, we'd know about them already."

"We've only been together for ten months," Simon protests. He's not crying anymore.

"And I've been in love with you for four years," I counter. Then I sigh. "If you want to wait, Simon, I'll wait. I'll always wait for you."

Simon burrows back into my chest of his own accord. "But I'm a Normal."

I finger his wings. "That is patently false."

He huffs. "I mean, I'm not a magician."

"Technically speaking, neither am I. I'm not even human."

"But you can do magic."

I nuzzle his head. "You used to _be_ magic. And you gave it up heroically. Selflessly. How could I blame you for that?"

He puts an arm around me and presses himself even closer. "I can't keep up with you."

"Simon, you were never that good at being a magician. That's not why I fell for you."

He nuzzles my chest. "Why _did_ you fall for me, then?"

I'm a bit ashamed that I have to think about it. It just never made sense, not even in my head. "Because you were always there, I suppose. Because there was no getting rid of you. Because you were handsome. Because you always saved the people around you, even when they didn't deserve it." I'm not usually this forthright. Or this verbally affectionate. But then, Simon isn't usually this tearful.

"Those aren't very good reasons." Simon sounds dubious.

"They're not why I love you _now_."

"Why do you love me now, then?"

I ignore the urgency in his tone. "Can't that go poetically unsaid?"

The urgency is gone in the next sentence, replaced by peevishness: "Not while you're proposing to me, you daft git."

"I'm not proposing to you. When I do, I'll be down on one knee, wearing a suit, and I'll have a ring. I promise." I've spent a disturbing amount of time picturing it, to be honest.

All Simon says is "Still."

I sigh. "Fair. I love you because you're selfless, and heroic, and honest, and handsome, and caring, and loyal. I love you because you accept me for who I am, which I didn't think anyone would ever do. I love you because you kissed me to keep me from killing myself. I love you because I never want to stop looking at you, because you're so gorgeous it hurts. I love you because you let me love you, and you love me in return."

Simon lets out a huge sob and smooshes his face into my chest. I hold him as tightly as I can. "Simon, love, what's wrong?"

It takes him a few tries to get words out. "Careful, or I might start believing you."

"What?"

"That it's possible to love me," he chokes out.

"Of course it's possible to love you!" I put as much force into those words as I put into spells. "What do you think I've been doing these last ten months? What about Bunce? Or Wellbelove?"

"You and Penelope—I thought you were impressed with me. And then I thought you felt sorry for me. And I was Agatha's _destiny_. Feelings didn't really come into it." He's pressing into me so hard it hurts.

Merlin and Morgana, if this is what comes of leaving things poetically unsaid, I'm going to need to start communicating. (That's probably what Simon's therapist would tell me if I ever let him cajole me into talking to her.)

I kiss Simon's hair several times. "Simon, _I love you_."

"I love you too. I love you too. I love you too." He's still crying into my chest.

The door to our room opens slowly. Bunce is standing in the doorway. She takes a few steps into the room and says, "Simon, are you okay?"

"Fine, Penny," he says in a still-wobbly voice. "Just nightmares."

Bunce comes the rest of the way over to the bed and feels around for Simon's shoulder. She's not wearing her glasses, and between her nearsightedness and the dark, she probably can't see anything at all. She finds Simon's wing and slides her hand down it until she reaches his back. Her fingers overlap with mine, and her hand stiffens a bit in surprise. "Oh, Baz, you are here." I can see her eyes narrow. "Are you making him cry?"

"No, he's helping," Simon says. I'm grateful for that. I've been worrying that I _am_ making it worse. "I'm just tired. And rattled. You can go back to bed, Pen."

"If you're sure," she says. There's a note of doubt in her voice. She finds Simon's shoulder and squeezes it before turning and exiting the room. She has to grope around for the doorway and nearly runs into the doorframe on her way out. For a moment I feel bad about not lighting a fire in my palm to help her see the way out, but then I refocus my attention on Simon.

When I've heard Bunce's footsteps return to her own room, I kiss Simon on the top of the head again and say, "For what it's worth, I never thought anyone would love me, either."

Simon looks up at me, frowning. "But you have a family."

"I'm a vampire," I say flatly. "My mother died killing vampires. She loved me when I was a child, but she would have killed me by now if she'd lived. My father nearly disowned me when he found out about me being gay. My stepmother's nice, but that's just her personality; it doesn't mean she _cares_. Who does that leave? Dev and Niall were never attached to me the way Bunce always has been to you. And it's not like I ever expected you to fall for me in return."

Simon's crying less now. He reaches up to stroke my face. His fingers are sticky, probably from wiping away his own tears. "I didn't know your father was homophobic."

I raise an eyebrow. "Why did you think I refused to go to Oxford?"

"I thought you liked London. And maybe me."

I bend forward to kiss him gently on the lips. "There's that, too."

"Yeah?" Simon's voice is timid.

"Simon." I huff. "Ten minutes ago, I expressed a desire to marry you. _Yes_ , there's that."

Simon kisses me, tenderly at first and then harder. It's probably a few minutes before we break apart, though it's hard to keep track of time when his tongue is in my mouth.

When it's over, I rest my forehead against his and say, "What do you think? About getting married."

Simon shakes his head slowly so that our noses brush together. He does that sometimes; I don't think it's a "no" kind of head shake. He says, "You said this wasn't a proposal."

"It isn't. I'm not offering you a ring, am I? This is to make sure that I won't make an absolute fool of myself when I actually propose to you. I don't want to get down on one knee if you're going to say _no_."

Simon's quiet for a while. I'm worried that he's trying to come up with a tactful way of rejecting me—or that he's fallen asleep. Finally, he says, "You're not worried about your father?"

"There's no way for me to be happy and please him at the same time. I came to terms with that awhile ago. And I think I'm too much of a hero for him to disown me now, no matter how much he disapproves. Plus, I'll have Fiona on my side regardless."

Simon's quiet for even longer and then says, "All right, then."

"Hmm?"

"Sure. Yes. Let's get married."

"Really?" My voice is higher-pitched than I mean it to be.

"Crowley, Baz, _yes_. We're in love. We know each other as well as humanly or vampire-ly possible. We already know how to live together. We want to stay together forever. Sure, let's get married."

I kiss him. And kiss him. And kiss him.

After a long time, he draws back, yawns, and nuzzles back into my chest. "Do you mind if I go to sleep? I'm tired, and there's class in the morning."

I kiss the top of his head. "Sure. Good night, love." I say it this time even though he's not crying. It feels right.

I stroke his head as he falls asleep. It's comforting to feel him go limp in my arms, to know that he trusts me this much after everything we've been through. After a while, I fall asleep myself. This time, I don't have a nightmare. Instead, I dream of our wedding.

The next day, I find a jewelry store and start looking at rings.

 **A/N: Favorites and reviews are always lovely!**


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